


Who Gave You Such Radiance

by gremlinquisitor (suchanadorer)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Andraste Statue, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Jaws of Hakkon DLC, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 13:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16347482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/gremlinquisitor
Summary: Sulahnassan Lavellan has a surprise for Cullen at their new home. But it's perhaps more personal for her than she'd originally intended, as well.





	Who Gave You Such Radiance

“Do you remember when we went to Frostback Basin?”

“I remember the smell.”

Sulahnassan sighs, but doesn’t offer a comeback, and Cullen regrets the quip. She is normally the first to joke, has even helped him ‘loosen up’, at least according to some visitors they’ve had who knew him before. So when she doesn’t play along, there’s a reason.

“I do remember,” he tries again. “I remember the shoreline, the way you showed me where you fought. I couldn’t believe there’d been so much ice there. You were so proud,” he says, smiling down at her. 

She shrugs with one shoulder, back still pressed to the door she’d led him to. She’s had some project going for a while now, almost since they moved in to the Keep. Cullen’s been under strict orders not to go in, so when she’d plucked his book out of his hands and brought him here, he’d been curious. He still is, but there’s something else, a bashfulness that he’s quite unaccustomed to from her, and it makes him wonder even more. Whatever she’s been working on, it’s serious for her.

Her voice is barely audible, and her head is tipped down to let her hair fall on her face, but even through that, he can see that she’s blushing. “Do you remember Ameridan?”

Cullen would know about Ameridan even if she had never taken him on a tour through history in the Basin, but so much of what they’d thought they knew was wrong. He recalls the way she’d spoken of the first Inquisitor, a fond reverence he’d never heard her use before, not about her own clan or family, or even anyone in their - her - Inquisition. He’d been spellbound by her, content to listen and to watch her as she told him the real story of Ameridan and Drakon. She’d spoken warmly of Telana, standing in the doorway to a broken-down building, tears shining in her eyes. The sun had turned her hair to fire when she told him that Ameridan, too, had had a Templar at his side, and that Dagna was not the first Dwarf to show an interest in the arcane - Ameridan’s Inquisition had Orinna. All of what she’d learned, she’d shared with him, under leafy canopies, walking on the elevated walkways that had turned out to be rather a good idea in the end, or along the forest floor itself, by dark streams or sun-dappled paths.

He remembers that she’d never been as beautiful as she’d been when she’d told him about the first Inquisitor.

He catches her chin with his thumb and forefinger and tilts her head up to look at him. Her smile is shy, and he offers one in return that he hopes is reassuring. “I remember him, because you remember him, love. I remember watching you talk about him and seeing how important he is to you, thinking ‘Who was this man, who gave you such radiance’? You shone then, and you shine now. You light up when you say his name.” He chuckles. “I hope you speak of me half so fondly.”

That earns him the grin he’d been seeking, even if she turns her head away, her blushing deepening.

“Come on, I want to show you something.” Sulahnassan turns around, unlocking the door and shouldering it open. She gets by well with one arm, having turned down all offers of prosthetics except for the specially-designed bow that Varric had sent her. She insists it doesn’t hurt her anymore, and he believes her, but she is also stubborn, and sometimes he’s wondered if she pushes herself, does things she shouldn’t because she doesn’t want to admit she can’t.

All thoughts of what Sulahnassan can not do are blown away when she steps into the room and looks back over her shoulder, beckoning him inside. What had been a small storeroom is transformed. The stone has been scrubbed clean, ceiling to floor, and standing opposite the door is a familiar statue, though with some unfamiliar additions. Candles flicker all around them, some on the floor, some in tall wrought-iron holders. There are small halla figures set on the windowsills, diamonds of colored glass casting rainbows around them.

“I had her brought here from Skyhold,” Sulahnassan explains, looking from him to Andraste and back. “We weren’t going back there, so I figured why not take everything that’s not nailed down, that’s of value to someone.”

“But you--”

“She’s for you,” she interrupts, her voice soft, but steady. “Ameridan believed in the Maker and the elven gods - ‘two sets of boots to walk the same path’. I… didn’t really know what I believed when we met. Cassandra asked me if I believed in the Maker, and I said yes because I didn’t want to die, but over time, watching you, the others, your conviction. I don’t know. I wanted you and the others to have somewhere to go.” She shrugs with one shoulder, and he knows the gesture. She thinks she’s run out of words to explain, but he knows if he lets her keep talking, she’ll get there.

“And the rope, the-- is that Veilfire?”

Sulahnassan nods, grinning again. “So it never goes out. ‘Sylaise, whose heat rivals Elgar'nan's light. Sylaise, whose temples rival Mythal's cities.” She looks around the small, dark room, then looks at Cullen and shrugs before continuing the song. “Sylaise, whose breath rivals Andruil's spear. Sylaise, whose skill rivals June's craft. Sylaise, whose fire cannot be quenched. We give ourselves gladly to your service.” She turns to face the statue as she finishes, her arm wrapped around her body, hand gripping her elbow. Her hair’s grown long, and it shines where the light hits it, pinks and yellows on crimson, worn loose, though she still shaves the side.

“The rope is because she taught us how to spin thread, make ropes and bowstrings. She’s the hearth-maker, a healer, but a protector, too. I believed in all of them a little more than I did the Maker, more out of habit than anything. But as it went on, as we fought and bled and lived, I thought about her more and more. What would she have thought of our mission?” Her breath hitches, and he sets a hand on her shoulder, but she doesn’t move. “And I decided that she would bless our mission. It was a mission of protection and healing. I think the Inquisition has lit a fire, and I pray it never goes out.”

Ameridan had a similar shrine. She’d brought him there, and tried to explain it then, but at the time he hadn’t understood. It had been so foreign to him, the idea of an elf kneeling before Andraste, the Maker-Bride with halla in her hands. But now he thinks he sees, or at least he knows he sees what Sulahnassan means. 

He steps in close behind her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in, her back against his chest, murmuring into her hair. “Sulahnassan, this is beautiful, and I’m-- I can’t believe you managed all this on your own, and kept it a secret from me.” 

“I wasn’t sure how many trips to Honnleath I could send you on without me before you got suspicious. Your sister was very accommodating.”

He laughs, not at all surprised that they’d been in on it. 

“Can I ask… what Solas told you--”

“Andraste was a mortal woman,” she answers. “And Solas has his own opinions on everything. This is his fault, in a way. Every time he spoke down to me for being Dalish, I started to care a little more, like I had to defend them from him, from his arrogance. We did the best we could, and - and - something doesn’t have to be true for it to be useful. Sylaise, to us, is kindness and strength and healing. She helps women in childbirth, and she watches over children, and I asked her to bless our marriage,”she hisses, her conviction bordering on anger, “and until she stands before me and tells me otherwise I will continue to believe that she is those things. Maybe even after. Anyway, Solas doesn’t get to decide how I practice my faith.”

Cullen draws a breath and considers a moment. “So, she’s not really for me. Or, not just for me, then.”

“I guess not. I thought… I mean I started it for you, I did, but I looked at her, and I thought about Ameridan, and about me, and about what’s coming, and…” She goes quiet, and he leans to the side to look at her face. “I wanted a shrine to an idea. I wanted somewhere anyone could come, I think, and feel like someone was listening. Like someone would protect them. He wanted elves and humans to work together, to be equals and fight for a common goal. I want that, and we’re going to need that going forward.”

She turns to look at him, face flecked with color, her vallaslin glowing in the sunlight. He sees the same resolution in her eyes that he’d seen so many times across the war table, but now there is no hesitation, no seeking the approval of an adviser. She is sure, and it warms.

“Sylaise, favor our endeavor.” 

He nods. “For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.”


End file.
